[ In an abstract way, Fraser knew he was beautiful. He fit most of the major expectations of beauty. His hands were generous, his complexion smooth, his head the correct size compared to his body. He was tall, dark haired and blue eyed, fairly featured, well muscled--all good things, according to the book he'd read. Beautiful, in all the Greek dimensions, and people were attracted to beautiful people like they were attracted to a perfect rose or a window display full of freshly made pastries. They wanted to cut him from the earth, or eat him all up - he'd discovered this very quickly - and he couldn't abide any of it.
But attractive? Attractive was an altogether different question.
Attraction - real attraction, rather than the flimsy kind - was something that had to bear out all his idiosyncrasies and irritating bad habits. It had to like the scar on his jaw as much as the jaw itself, and the story behind it just as much. Ray knew a lot of Fraser's stories, and since this morning had been introduced in full to every one of his scars. But attraction wasn't just tolerance--he needed to be wanted too, appreciated. He wanted Ray, whom he hadn't been sure yesterday would ever even be interested, to want him and want his body. To find him beautiful and love him. And maybe he was asking a lot.
For his own part he wanted and loved. The slender, muscular body in the soft bed beneath him, long limbs and hard bone, battered skin, the scars on Ray's knuckles, the one on his temple - barely visible any more - were all signs of a life lived and fought for. There was sunshine in every inch of Ray's body, such that he could flatten his palms against him and soak in the heat of hundreds of summer days.
No, he wasn't conventionally beautiful, not in the bibliographical sense--but what did books know, really? A book couldn't possibly describe the pink slither of Ray's tongue as it chased across his own bottom lip, an unselfconscious motor response to the fact that he was salivating. It couldn't capture the way his breathing seemed to still as though he were in danger of disturbing the air and somehow shattering the mood, and how that made a flush crawl up the outside of his neck, or the way his abandoned erection, nudged by moving fabric as Fraser tilted his hips, arched so invitingly against the inside of his underwear, like a Christmas gift yet to be unwrapped.
Books couldn't capture his attraction to Ray Kowalski. In fact quite likely they were no use at all, except that in Fraser's case it was books that had taught him to do this. All alone in the dark, long lonely days with no other human contact and nothing better to do with his time than discover every inch of his own body. The books hadn't told him exactly how to reach that spot, but Fraser had been nothing if not persistent. He'd known for sure the moment he found it, though for one terrifying moment the intense pleasure had been so painful he'd thought for sure he'd broken something.
Still fixing his partner's gaze, leaning just a little further over him to compensate for the change in his own center of gravity as he straightened his back, he reached both of his own hands around himself, pawing, stroking, his face a picture of concentration. And then he held his breath, eyes fluttering almost closed, the muscles in his legs tensing under Ray's palms as he pressed one finger inside. He didn't breathe straight away; his teeth dug down into his bottom lip, and his brow furrowed just a touch more as he wriggled his finger in just as deep as he could, but it was never far enough, not with one, his other digits folded up against his palm but none the less making the angle impossible.
His hand stilled, delicately, slowly, as though breathing out the tension from the full length of his body, he expelled a shattered breath, focus returning to his faraway eyes. Ray was still underneath him--lovely Ray; patient, beautiful Ray, whom he trusted implicitly. Ray, waiting on baited breath for this, just as Fraser had instructed. ]
Hands. [ He whispered, and his eyes flickered down to them. ] You can...you can touch my hands, if you like. [ It wasn't as though Ray could see, and he did so badly want this to be an all encompassing experience. He waited, untensing again, forcing his body to relax as he slid his hand back, nudging the tip of his second finger in against the first, but not yet pressing it past muscle. He waited for Ray--waited for Ray, and then... Only then. ]
no subject
But attractive? Attractive was an altogether different question.
Attraction - real attraction, rather than the flimsy kind - was something that had to bear out all his idiosyncrasies and irritating bad habits. It had to like the scar on his jaw as much as the jaw itself, and the story behind it just as much. Ray knew a lot of Fraser's stories, and since this morning had been introduced in full to every one of his scars. But attraction wasn't just tolerance--he needed to be wanted too, appreciated. He wanted Ray, whom he hadn't been sure yesterday would ever even be interested, to want him and want his body. To find him beautiful and love him. And maybe he was asking a lot.
For his own part he wanted and loved. The slender, muscular body in the soft bed beneath him, long limbs and hard bone, battered skin, the scars on Ray's knuckles, the one on his temple - barely visible any more - were all signs of a life lived and fought for. There was sunshine in every inch of Ray's body, such that he could flatten his palms against him and soak in the heat of hundreds of summer days.
No, he wasn't conventionally beautiful, not in the bibliographical sense--but what did books know, really? A book couldn't possibly describe the pink slither of Ray's tongue as it chased across his own bottom lip, an unselfconscious motor response to the fact that he was salivating. It couldn't capture the way his breathing seemed to still as though he were in danger of disturbing the air and somehow shattering the mood, and how that made a flush crawl up the outside of his neck, or the way his abandoned erection, nudged by moving fabric as Fraser tilted his hips, arched so invitingly against the inside of his underwear, like a Christmas gift yet to be unwrapped.
Books couldn't capture his attraction to Ray Kowalski. In fact quite likely they were no use at all, except that in Fraser's case it was books that had taught him to do this. All alone in the dark, long lonely days with no other human contact and nothing better to do with his time than discover every inch of his own body. The books hadn't told him exactly how to reach that spot, but Fraser had been nothing if not persistent. He'd known for sure the moment he found it, though for one terrifying moment the intense pleasure had been so painful he'd thought for sure he'd broken something.
Still fixing his partner's gaze, leaning just a little further over him to compensate for the change in his own center of gravity as he straightened his back, he reached both of his own hands around himself, pawing, stroking, his face a picture of concentration. And then he held his breath, eyes fluttering almost closed, the muscles in his legs tensing under Ray's palms as he pressed one finger inside. He didn't breathe straight away; his teeth dug down into his bottom lip, and his brow furrowed just a touch more as he wriggled his finger in just as deep as he could, but it was never far enough, not with one, his other digits folded up against his palm but none the less making the angle impossible.
His hand stilled, delicately, slowly, as though breathing out the tension from the full length of his body, he expelled a shattered breath, focus returning to his faraway eyes. Ray was still underneath him--lovely Ray; patient, beautiful Ray, whom he trusted implicitly. Ray, waiting on baited breath for this, just as Fraser had instructed. ]
Hands. [ He whispered, and his eyes flickered down to them. ] You can...you can touch my hands, if you like. [ It wasn't as though Ray could see, and he did so badly want this to be an all encompassing experience. He waited, untensing again, forcing his body to relax as he slid his hand back, nudging the tip of his second finger in against the first, but not yet pressing it past muscle. He waited for Ray--waited for Ray, and then... Only then. ]